Eight Thirty PM
by Juniper1919
Summary: You used to appreciate Karkat's mandatory social hour, but for the last few perigrees, your matesprit has been showing up late and human drunk. This is worrying. Tonight, Rose arrived sober. Obviously, this is even more worrying. You think you know what to do. When it comes to meddling, you are simply the best there is.


You admit you've been there for several hours already; you work best in the open space, and you don't mind when the meteor's other inhabitants bustle around you. The sewing machine (or rather, one of three thanks to alchemy) sits in the corner of the spacious room and across from the main door, allowing you a panoramic view of your surroundings. You know it's getting close to time, so you risk a quick glance at the clock to your left, hoping you don't mess up the stitching in your newest dress.

It's 8:23, according to Dave's internal chronometer, which, given the lack of a day, is about as accurate as anything could be. Seven minutes until everyone starts showing up. After about a quarter sweep on the desolate rock, Karkat decided that a group-social-hour would be instated; you all had spent the first six human months avoiding each other. Everyone but Gamzee – though he likely wouldn't show up anyway – meets up in the common room at 8:30 to "build a stronger fucking team dynamic, you shitstained wigglers; stop whining."

8:29. Terezi saunters, cackling, into the room, dragging a decidedly quite disgruntled Karkat by the collar behind her.

"I am not playing fucking hide and seek with you, Terezi. Get your hands off me; who knows where you've been shoving them!" Karkat shouts, indignant as ever. "My Gog, you're like a fucking nooklicking-clawbeast looking for asshole-honey, sticking your grubby paws in every fucking hole you find, like somewhere in your empty, sugar-rotted think pan you honestly fucking expect to stay clean. Then you – oomph!"

Terezi trips him with her cane, her shark grin gleaming in the shadowed room. "I'll stick one right up your sorry ass if you don't shut your protein chute and play with me," she practically purrs.

You can't help but smile at that, though you don't look up from your sewing machine. At exactly 8:30, Dave arrives. You didn't actually check your clock, but you know from experience that the Time player always arrives punctually. You don't think he can help it. Dave shuffles across the common room, taking his place at his turntables. Even with his headphones on, you can faintly hear his music and the quiet rap he's accompanying it with.

You finish a seam and set the dress aside. You're not going to deny it – you're waiting for her. The minutes pass, and you find a book in the library to pretend to read. Dave's music has stopped; he's just standing there now, and you can only assume he's waiting for her, too.

8:43. Rose walks in.

The first thing you notice is how steadily she's walking; she's not human drunk like she has been for some time now. As she approaches, violet eyes scanning book titles, you notice how carefully she's put on her makeup – and the slight downward quirk of her painted-black lips. She sits down beside you, laying a massive tome down on the floor in front of her, and you notice how her Seer robes drape limply over her dwindling frame. You notice how the dark, dusky bags under her eyes contrast sharply with the pastiness of her face.

"Kanaya," she says crisply, and you love the sound of your name in her voice, "you're staring."

"Sorry," you quickly reply. Your eyes snap back to the page of your own, smaller book.

The minutes limp by, and you continue noticing. Rose's brow is furrowed imperceptibly, one of her subtle tells for worry. She is staring quite decidedly at a spot just above the top of her titanic writing – the pages of which she hasn't turned since opening it to an arbitrary point. There's something very wrong here, and, being careful not stare, you think about what it could be.

Your understanding of human 'family' relationships is quite limited, you admit, but you know that Rose's mother, the human equivalent of a lusus, was essentially the stem of your matesprit's newfound alcohol addiction. Evidenced by Rose's descent into grimdarkness in response to her mother, the two had a strong bond – however much she refused to admit it. If she didn't look quite so shaken, you would think something good had happened that freed her from her self-destructive vice. This is not the case, however, so you're forced to assume that something even worse has transpired.

She is your matesprit. You suppose that even if she doesn't tell you anything, you can always ask. "Rose –" you start, but the Seer cuts you off.

"I died today," she says softly, quietly. "I was always aware that it was a possibility given my current...predilection toward drinks of a more alcoholic nature, but I never truly believed it could happen to me. Childish delusions of immortality, I suppose, though in my and my brother's case they aren't entirely unwarranted."

Well...you had figured it was something worse. "I...your human soporifics can kill?"

"When imbibed in large enough of a quantity, yes." She's still not telling you much, but you hadn't really expected her to say anything at all.

The thought that she had been risking death every day she drank – and you hadn't been able to stop her – rattles you. You let it roll around your think pan for a few more minutes. Glancing up at your surroundings shows you that Karkat did indeed end up playing hide-and-seek with his flush crush, and that Dave has been watching you intently, likely since your and Rose's taciturn conversation began. His face is as emotionless as ever, but he turns away just a little too quickly when you catch him staring.

"Kanaya," Rose says, the slightest tremble in her voice, "I don't know what to do." This is easily the most vulnerable she's ever sounded, and when you look up at her, her violet eyes are shining with the possibility of tears.

"Come on," you murmur, standing and reaching for her hand. "Let's go somewhere private." She nods and and rises along with you, footsteps deceptively confident as she strides toward the exit.

"Hey!" Karkat shouts, pausing his search for Terezi. "Happy hour's not over yet, wigglers. Come on and join the fucking party!"

"Fuck off," you can just hear Dave hiss in your defence. "They're dealin' with shit." You shoot him a grateful look before following Rose out of the common room, the door closing with the resounding clang of metal on metal.

Safely out of sight, a transparent tear rolls down your matesprit's cheek. You let your natural phosphorescence illuminate the shadowed hall; even though Rose can see in the dark thanks to her abilities as a Seer of Light, you know it brings her comfort.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask, your fingers brushing your tube of lipstick. It's difficult to see beyond your ring of radiance, and Gamzee – that murderous clown – could be hiding anywhere, just waiting to strike.

"Not particularly," Rose replies, the waver in her words more pronounced. "Though if anyone could persuade me to do so, it'd be you."

Okay, so she really wants someone to talk about this with. Her feigned nonchalance isn't fooling you; you've gotten to know her quite well over the perigrees. "Your respiteblock or mine?" You're determined to console the socks off her now. Not a single insane juggalo is going to get in your way.

Rose thinks for a moment before relaying her answer. "Preferably yours," she says. "While normally familiar surroundings would aid in comforting me, I'm afraid I have no interest in seeing them at this point in time. I haven't yet...cleaned up."

You're going to pretend you're not intrigued by that last sentence. You do a pretty good job.

You turn right at a fork in the hallway; your block isn't far now. You stop at a small closet along the way and pull out several human blankets. Rose quirks an eyebrow, and you smile back.

Once in your block, you immediately sit your matesprit down on the bed you had brought in just for her visits (you like to relax in your recuperacoon, but Rose will have none of that). You take a blanket from your sylladex and drape it around her shoulders. "Now," you start, settling down beside her. "I hope you don't mind if I ask you some questions. I admit, I'm a bit bemused by the situation."

"I hope you don't mind, but I'd rather you didn't." Rose says quickly, the infliction most aptly described as acerbic. Acerbic, but not necessarily unkind. You recognize the tone as defensive. She feels cornered, and you don't want that.

"Okay, then how about a question for a question. You can even ask first." You refrain from giving her a reassuring touch. She's so worked up, you're quite certain she'd flinch away from the contact, and you don't want to see that.

Rose mulls it over for a moment. "I noticed Dave listening in on our conversation back in the common room. I could have sensed his concern through ten inches of concrete, Kanaya. Do tell me, have the two of you been conspiring to bring my alcohol addiction to its overdue end?"

"We have discussed it, but in the end we decided that you're not a child anymore. While we are both worried about your health, you're going to have to stop yourself. I do believe we have found your will quite unshakable, if you remember our various conversations leading up to and regarding your descent in grimdarkness." Rose looks thoughtful, violet eyes directed at a spot between her toes and your carpet. "My turn. You said the soporifics you've been consuming in earnest can – and did – kill you. How?"

"Well," she starts, and she looks a little more comfortable now. "Contrary to the misconstrued definition of the palliative by the largely uninformed masses, alcohol is indeed a drug. It is a depressant, meaning it slows brain function. Ingesting too much can stop even the most basic and vital of processes, such as breathing or the ability to wake after being rendered unconscious." Maybe she feels less distressed because the subject has taken a sharp turn for the impersonal. For a passionate psychoanalyst, she certainly dislikes discussing her own feelings. "My turn. Alcohol's basic chemical structure is easily constructed using even the most antediluvian and trite of tools. Surely it existed in some form on Alternia. Is this the case?"

Huh. You have to think about that one. "Keep in mind Alternia was a planet comprised entirely of wigglers. I do suppose, however, that your human alcohol could be likened to the sopor slime used in recuperacoons." You spare a glance at said object hanging in the corner of your respiteblock, just like your old one back on Alternia. "A handy case in point would be Gamzee; he baked his slime into pies on a regular basis. It was the withdrawal that drove him to murder, though that assuredly does not excuse his actions!"

Rose smirks and catches your eye, thin fingers brushing yours away from – you weren't going for the lipstick consciously you swear –

"Your turn," she cuts in.

You quickly regain your composure. "Right. Yes. Sorry. Now, I don't intend to unearth too many unpalatable memories, but you have died in the past. There was Jack, then again in your ascension to the god tiers. I have no doubt that it was no walk in the human park, but on the whole, you remained largely unperturbed. What makes this different?"

The Seer returns her cautious gaze to the floor. You can see a thousand possibilities skimming behind her eyes as she searches – fruitfully, no doubt – for the most favorable. "If possible, I think I will refrain from answering the question."

"Question for a question, love. Not to pry, but is there something important you haven't told me?" You smile, and she smirks. As is customary.

"Oh, Kanaya," she purrs, the lilt lifting her voice purely facetious, "when it comes to meddling, you are simply the best there is." Her words resume their now-familiar apprehension as she slips back into a serious tone. "No, no information of magnitude has been withheld. It's the nature of the death, the fact that it was my fault and my fault alone, that gives it gravity. Since embarking on our unfortunately futile quest, I've grown complacent in game constructs and the convergence of all fathomable paths on the inevitable. No matter what any of us do, we die or end up where we were always meant to be. Last night, I took my life into my own hands and died because of it; no Noble Circle orchestrated it, no in-game situations necessitated it. My death was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It was liberating. But mostly, it was terrifying."

She shifts slightly and rests her head on your shoulder. You can hear her breathing, but the rate is placid and slow. You're pretty sure she'd been wanting to get that off her chest for a while. Remembering her time spent literally dismantling her land, you know there's a reckless streak in her that is only sated – albeit temporarily – through destruction.

"I think I understand," you say, and you mean it.

You lace your fingers through hers, your light dancing on her pale skin and around you on the colored cloths draped around your block. It's kind of poetic, you think, in a twisted sort of way. A caretaker and an addict, intertwined and equals, sharing pain and light and love. Together, you think you can stumble through anything this game throws at you. Whether it's destiny or a consequence of your free will, you're fairly certain you're going to be okay.

"Rose?"

"Yes?"

"It's your turn."

"Oh." A moment passes. "Kanaya? Do you love me?"

You can't help the grin that sneaks onto your face. "What kind of question is that?"


End file.
